


The Things She Left Behind

by MistCover



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistCover/pseuds/MistCover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya finds a diary, well worn from sand and time, in the dream bubbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things She Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [striderscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/striderscribe/gifts).



> My gift in the Ladystuck 2013 exchange! This was certainly a challenge to write, but I had fun doing it!

You run the thin, jade notebook over in your hands. It’s slim, just a handful of pages. Many have been torn out, and of the ones that remain over half are illegible from time, and exposure to the unforgiving environment of the desert. It’s still something. It’s still a diary that was in theory written by your very own ancestor. okay, Kanaya, you think to yourself, it’s just a diary. What could be in it? You glance around skittishly. The lab is silent, having just been unceremoniously dumped from the dreambubble you found this journal in. Rose is the only person in sight, and she is currently face down on a desk, bottle half in her grip and resting next to her. You should stay and keep watch, anyways. This will just be something to do while you wait for her to rouse herself. You walk to one of the couches, dropping down onto it with a puff of air and compressing stuffing. It is, of course, in your native language, a language you have preserved in speaking with the other surviving trolls. Alternian is more guttural than the human’s tongue, but it flows better in your mind. English is fine, and you can communicate, but there is a small satisfaction in reading something in the language you grew up in. With that thought and a slight smile, you crack open the book, releasing a burst of dust.

_My friend is o+n my case again abo+ut writing. She says that it’s therapeutic, that keeping a reco+rd o+f my life will bring jo+y to+ me when I am o+ld and nearing death. So+mething abo+ut no+stalgia being go+o+d fo+r the so+ul. I’m no+t entirely sure I believe her, but I will give it a sho+t regardless. Hello+. My name is Po+rrim Maryam and I am five sweeps o+ld. This jo+urnal is a present fro+m my friend. I do+n’t really kno+w what else yo+u want me to+ say. I suppo+se I co+uld prattle o+n abo+ut my life and it’s circumstance? I live in a hive in the desert that was co+nstructed fo+r me. I live with my lusus. She is go+ing to+ die very so+o+n and then I will be expected to+ so+meho+w find my way to+ the caverns belo+w gro+und and tend to+ the actual mo+thergrub, supplying her with the genetic material she needs, cleaning her, and caring fo+r (o+r culling) the grubs she pro+duces. Fo+r no+w I am being scho+o+lfed o+n the basics o+f math and histo+ry and writing, alo+ng with hefty do+ses o+f bio+lo+gy. Co+nsidering I was bred to+ be so+mething o+f a bio+lo+gist I think this is appro+priate, even if I find it bo+ring._

You roll your eyes, settling back onto the overstuffed eyesore of a couch.

_It’s no+t as tho+ugh I am no+t grateful to+ be able to+ serve the empire. The empress needs us all to+ be wo+rking fo+r the glo+ry o+f Alternia, and keeping the canno+ns sto+cked requires tho+usands o+f bo+dies to+ do+ so+. I am to+ supply tho+se. And while I will do+ my jo+b to+ my utmo+st_

The entry ends abruptly there, the rest of the page a mass of running ink. She bought into it, didn’t she? You almost want to find Porrim and give this to her, tell her you never opened it no of course not, and forget about the whole thing. It was a bad idea, anyways. You turn the pages, flipping through scraps of sentences. 

_pity fo+r... I co+uld have so+mething o+f a flushed... she pro+bably wo+uldn’t..._

You almost feel a pang of regret that this passage is wiped clean, not allowing you a peek into her romantic life. As much of a romantic life as a five sweep old can have, anyways. You smile to yourself, rustling through the faded, dry pages, looking for something legible.

_I made a dress that is actually appro+aching fashio+nable to+day. It’s black, which is standard fo+r the mo+dern excuse o+f clo+thing, but I embro+idered my symbo+l acro+ss the chest, o+ne cap sleeved sho+ulder to+ the o+ther. The garment ends just abo+ve my knees. It’s functio+nal, and it allo+ws me the entire range o+f mo+tio+n fo+r fighting. I sho+uld make so+me so+rt o+f co+vering fo+r my legs, ho+wever, the sun is freckling them just as badly as my face._

You bring a hand up to your own cheekbones, tracing the splashes of dark grey that dot your skin. So she had them too? 

_I think mo+thergrub appro+ved. I went o+utside to+ sho+w her and she rumbled and then_

The entry cuts off there. Another torn page, another small twinge of sadness that you couldn’t learn more. There’s not much left here, only tiny scraps for you to cling to like a lifeline. It is something, however. It’s something and you know she sewed and had freckles and was closer to you than anyone else on that forsaken, destroyed planet you used to call home. The thought is almost comforting. You skim pages of more clothing descriptions, chuckling at her heavy, rough sketches, some marked with x’s and some circled repeatedly. Occasionally, notes are scribbled on the sides, sprawling along the margins about fabric color and weight. You flip through to the next section.

_Mo+thergrub died to+day._

Well, that’s a bad start.

_I knew this wo+uld happen, but I didn’t think it wo+uld o+n my sixth wriggling day. There’s no+thing I can do+ fo+r her. All I am able to+ acco+mplish is mo+ving the bo+dy to+ a mo+re suitable lo+catio+n fo+r the beasts to+ co+nsume it. I didn’t tend to+ my garden, so+ my flo+wers are lo+o+king pathetic o+utside my windo+w. Suppo+sedly, I no+w have to+ find a way to+ the caverns to+ begin my wo+rk, but I haven’t had any flashes o+f inspiratio+n yet. There’s plenty o+f fo+o+d, especially co+nsidering I’m do+wn o+ne gigantic mo+uth to+ feed, and so+ I will take a rest and gather my tho+ughts. It’s been an equino+x since she died. Still no+ ideas o+n ho+w to+ start my wo+rk. The co+rpse is mo+stly co+nsumed, no+w. I’ve packed almo+st all o+f my belo+ngings, and I do+n’t have much to+ do+. Maybe it wo+uld be better if I left o+n_

Another cut. You rifle through the pages anxiously, trying to find where it starts up again.

_I died. It hurt a lo+t._

Oh, no. 

_A wo+man came and fo+und me while I was hauling my suitcase o+ut o+f my hive. She was jade, like me, and her skin was shining white like a rainbo+w drinker’s. I didn’t think tho+se existed, beyo+nd fairy tales. I asked her what she was do+ing her. She to+ld me she had co+me to+ take me to+ my new ho+me, apo+lo+gizing fo+r her delay. Apparently there was a mishap with the newest batch o+f grubs. I walked up to+ her, tugging my luggage alo+ng with me, asked her her name._  
 _Then she killed me. She pulled o+ut a lance and stabbed me thro+ugh my center witho+ut even answering my questio+n. It was excruciatingly painful, bo+th in terms o+f the ho+le in my sto+mach and in the sinking realizatio+n that this is it, this is where I die. I think I sho+uted. She knelt do+wn next to+ me, I remember that, and she held my head in her lap and purred, so+unding like mo+thergrub as she did._  
 _When I came to+, I was thirsty. There’s really no+ way to+ describe what happened next witho+ut so+unding like a ho+rribly cheesy rainbo+w drinker no+vel, but I was thirsty and I was co+ld and I was still held in her lap. She was petting my hair with o+ne hand, the o+ther sho+ved in her bag. She pulled o+ut vials o+f blo+o+d, cerulean and rust and yello+w, and handed them to+ me. I’ve never tasted anything as go+o+d as tho+se drinks. Grub blo+o+d, she explained. Apparently they get to+... co+nsume the rejects. I felt idio+tic fo+r no+t kno+wing that, but no+ o+ne had ever to+ld me! She helped me stand and then we began to+ walk._

The poor thing! Your heart breaks for her, for the same pain you went through not that long ago. No one told you. No one told her. It’s a small consolation that she had someone there to help her through the early stages, at least. Ugh, was your destiny always to reawaken as a drinker?

_Happy wriggling day to+ me. Seven sweeps. So+meho+w I do+n’t really feel like this is an acco+mplishment. My ro+utine is pretty much the same every day, anyways. Wake up, check to+ see if I’m wo+rking to+day. If I’m wo+rking to+day, go+ and help the o+thers wash the mo+thergrub. She needs to+ be cleaned fairly regularly. The current grub is getting o+n in sweeps and has a nasty parasite infestatio+n o+n her belly, which means we all get to+ individually pick o+ff squirming, screaming creatures and kill them. Tend to+ the current batch o+f grubs. They’re pretty yo+ung, still, and mo+re die every day. What was o+nce near a millio+n is no+w do+wn to+ half that. I’m to+ld it’s clo+se to+ fifty tho+usand grubs who+ will leave the caverns alive o+ut o+f a bro+o+d o+f this size. o+nce the grubs have been fed, find the sickly o+nes, the dying o+nes, the mutants, and eat them. My co+wo+rkers and I do+n’t find any jo+y in do+ing this. It’s terrible to+ listen to+ their cries. But it has to+ be do+ne. After that, it’s generally almo+st night time, and we can retreat back into+ the darkest parts o+f the cavern to+ sleep o+n o+ur o+dd reversed schedule.  
My days o+ff are usually spent sewing. Apparently that’s a co+mmo+n ho+bby here. That, and knitting. Well, jade blo+o+ds have always been the mo+stly clo+sely related co+lo+r, and since o+ur required material do+natio+n is o+nly do+ne with o+ther jadeblo+o+ds... the distinctio+n between each o+f us is small. Speaking o+f do+natio+n partners, I have met a wo+man who+ _

Shit, you curse under your breath. Cut off again. It’s a long, long time before any more text is legible. Scraps of sentences float to the surface, mostly detailing depositing the material into the mothergrub, speculation on which of these gestations will be her last. Porrim muses often on how life is on the surface, wondering how the empire is doing while she remains locked away underneath the dirt. You devour everything you can, soaking up the tiniest detail about her and her life. 

_Wo+rking her is ho+rrendo+us. To+ be surro+unded by death o+n a co+nstant basis is eno+ugh to+ drive anyo+ne insane. I tho+ught I was helping the empire- bringing up the next generatio+n o+f grubs to+ serve Alternia- but I seem to+ be killing mo+re than I ever raise._

This was supposed to be your life. This is what you were destined for. You chew you lip, contemplating. Could you have been happy doing this?

_I’m being sent to+ the surface to+day. This is a high ho+no+r, and sho+ws that my fighting pro+wess is trusted and that I have reached an age where I can be trusted no+t to+ fail. After all, it is dangero+us during the sunlight ho+urs. It’s imperative that no+ o+ne see me while I am go+ne, to+ preserve secrecy o+ver the lo+catio+n o+f the mo+thergrub. It’s actually kind o+f exciting._

The next entry is scrawled below this one, the handwriting hurried and dense, obviously written in a rush of pressed letters and nearly spilled ink. 

_If yo+u have fo+und this jo+urnal, please burn it. I need to+ keep him safe._

On the other end of the room, Rose begins to stir. She lifts her head up, smacking her lips and blinking at the dim light of the library. You close the journal carefully, setting it aside.  
“Good afternoon. Was your nap pleasant?” Drunken stupor would be more accurate. She nods her head slowly, and you stand to walk to her, wrapping your arm around her waist and helping her up. If you have found this troll, please burn her. I need to keep her safe.


End file.
